


Happy Birthday To Me

by hbunting1403



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Destiny, First Time, Interfering Siblings, M/M, Mates, Pack Family, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-02
Updated: 2017-03-02
Packaged: 2018-09-27 21:20:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10050695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hbunting1403/pseuds/hbunting1403
Summary: "Hi there, and welcome to Full Moon Jewellery. Thanks for browsing! I’m a designer based in California whose only dream in life is to get through art school without having to sell off my organs - which, by the way, is still on the table. You need a kidney? Let me know in your personalisation request, and I’m sure we can work something out. Guy’s gotta have that dollar to buy curly fries."It's Laura's 30th birthday and Derek sucks at buying gifts. Then he stumbles across 'Full Moon Jewellery', an Etsy store run by an art student who has strange ideas about nutrition, and whose enthusiasm for his new commission is actually kind of adorable.In which the whole pack wants Derek to get a life, and Derek just wants some peace.(But not really)





	

“Stop freaking out, Laura cares about as much about birthdays as you do.” Erica is filing her nails, and the noise is grating on Derek’s already frayed nerves even faster than it usually does. She has definitely already noticed this (her eyes are glinting in a way that suggests saying something would be bad for his health) but doesn’t stop filing.

“She’s 30,” Derek grits out, lying back on the sofa and closing his eyes in the hopes that he can somehow float away from his responsibilities - and from the very concept of nail files. “It’s kind of a big deal. And besides, you’ve already got her something, you traitor.” He opens his eyes to glare at Erica, who has thankfully put the file back in her bag. She grins at him, immune to his reproach.

“There’s still a week left until her birthday - you’ve got plenty of time!” Before Derek can argue that a _month_ wouldn’t be long enough for him to decide on an adequate birthday present for his sister, the doorbell rings; Derek sits up but Erica is already on her feet and gliding towards the front door.

“You don’t even live here!” he shouts after her as she disappears into the hallway. He growls but gets up anyway, moving to the kitchen to make a much-needed coffee. _Black, like my mood_ , he thinks - he knows better than to say these things aloud, as Erica has taken to using her werewolf hearing for the sole purpose of calling him out on all of the embarrassingly melodramatic comments he makes when he thinks he’s alone. The pack doesn’t allow for much privacy, but he grudgingly admits that he prefers it this way.

He doesn’t want to think about how it was when he was alone.

Boyd’s low, rumbling voice brings him back to himself and he quickly sets about making two cups of strong black coffee. Erica takes her caffeine sweet enough to scare children, and she’s taken to stocking his cupboards with the disgusting energy drinks she seems to live on. He can’t even berate her for not looking after her health because… Well, werewolves.

Moving back into the living room, Boyd greets him with a nod and gratefully takes the proffered cup. Erica wrinkles up her nose and immediately patters off to find her own stash.

“Still worried about Laura’s birthday?” Boyd asks, though he plainly already knows the answer. Derek raises one eyebrow and drinks his coffee in lieu of a reply. Boyd nods and takes a seat on one of the sofas. Most of their conversations go this way, both parties happy with minimal spoken words. Boyd is the least demanding of his pack, and Derek has always been very grateful for that. He loves Erica to pieces, but the quiet that Boyd’s company provides is invaluable to his mental health.

“He’s mad at me because I’ve got her something and he hasn’t,” Erica says conversationally, swanning back into the room with an energy drink that Derek can tell is already half drained. He doesn’t bother glaring at her this time because, after all, she’s right. Instead he sits down, leans back in his chair, and closes his eyes again. He hears Boyd drain his cup and place it gently on the coffee table.

“If you need us, howl,” he says in a low voice, his tone wry but genuine. Derek gives an almost imperceptible nod and a moment later he hears the click of a latch as his pack mates leave the flat. He opens his eyes again and sighs the clichéd sigh of a put-upon leader who has more important things to deal with than the trivial matter of their sister’s 30th birthday.

Except of course, he _doesn’t_ have anything more important to do. The supernatural activity gauge has been in the green for at least a couple of months, they’ve officially removed Isaac from his shitty home life and found him an apartment within spitting distance of Boyd and Erica’s pad, and his sister hasn’t tried to interfere in his non-existent love life for at least a few days. Realistically, Derek knows he should be feeling nothing but relief, but instead the radio silence is just making him antsy.

Letting out a huff of breath, he pulls himself off the sofa and makes his way over to the desk he has tucked away in the corner of the living room. The laptop is surrounded by a plethora of books on everything from supernatural forces and magical remedies, to (thanks to Laura) a guide on how to get out and meet people.

_(“You know - romantically?” he remembers Laura saying, rolling her eyes and tossing the book at him without looking up. He caught it, thanks to his werewolf reflexes, but he wasn’t happy about having to touch it. “Laura, I don’t need to meet anyone - I’m fine.” She snorted - such a classy woman, his sister - but had sobered up considerably when he next looked at her. “I know what happened with Kate was hard for you, but it wasn’t your fault - she was psychotic. Mom and dad wouldn’t have wanted you to punish yourself.”)_

Derek picks up the book and, feeling unable to throw it away for some reason, gently tucks it away in a drawer before opening up his laptop. He brushes some dust off the keyboard (he still doesn’t understand Isaac’s obsession with the Internet, so sue him) and opens up his web browser. His fingers hover over the keys, the cursor blinking at him patiently from the Google search bar, and he wracks his brain for anything at all that might interest Laura.

Jewellery comes to mind - she’s more like a magpie than a werewolf in a lot of ways - but she has so much already, and he doesn’t really know what she likes. He’d seen her face when her ex-boyfriend had given her flowers (the smell of lilies was too much for her sensitive nose and _seriously_ , who gets a funeral bouquet for their girlfriend?) and anyway he wants to get her something special; it’s not every day you turn 30.

He absentmindedly types ‘personalised jewellery’ into the search engine and scrolls through the results without much enthusiasm. Then something catches his eye.

**_‘Full Moon Jewellery - Personalised Gifts with Style’_ **

It’s on some site called ‘Etsy’, which he can remember Erica mentioning in a fairly positive way at some point in the past, so he clicks the link. It takes him to an online shop and, for the first time in a month, he feels his spirits lift just an inch above drowning. The page is filled with personalised jewellery items based around animals - many of them wolves - and everything is very reasonably priced. He notes vaguely that the shop owner doesn’t live too far away, which is great for shipping costs, and as he scrolls he sees several things that he knows that Laura would probably love.

He opens a couple of the items up in separate tabs then scrolls back up to read the shop bio.

 

> Hi there, and welcome to Full Moon Jewellery. Thanks for browsing! I’m a designer based in California whose only dream in life is to get through art school without having to sell off my organs - which, by the way, is still on the table. You need a kidney? Let me know in your personalisation request, and I’m sure we can work something out. Guy’s gotta have that dollar to buy curly fries.
> 
> All kidding aside, I hope you find what you’re looking for here. If you don’t, drop me a line and we can talk through your needs - I’m happy to accommodate whatever unusual requests you may have, though I draw the line at bigotry. You’ll have to find your swastikas elsewhere, kiddos.
> 
> How do I get my materials when I’m so poor I’m considering selling off my body parts, you ask? I’d say it’s a trade secret, but actually I just happen to have really good connections. When your best friend works in electronics, you stop being surprised at all the industrial uses for precious metals, and start trying to use it to your advantage.
> 
> Send me a message if I can help in any way - I’ll be around. And I was mostly kidding about the whole organ thing. I’m fairly attached to my kidneys (although other sundry parts may be negotiable).
> 
>  - Stiles

Derek reads through the bio twice - mostly just to see if there’s anything about the kid’s age, since he sounds about fifteen - but as he’s in art school he’s got to assume that he’s at least old enough to get horribly into debt for a piece of paper.

Looking through the tabs, he zeros in on a platinum bracelet (after checking several times that it’s definitely _not_ silver) interwoven with red gold and joining at the centre with a delicate, hand-molded fox. He looks through everything else but can’t find anything similar with a wolf motif, so he resigns himself to having to message the strange individual who runs the shop.

He spends a few moments composing the message and, although Erica would tell him he sounds like a grumpy asshole, he has better things to do with his time than make himself more palatable to complete strangers.

(He doesn’t actually have anything better to do; he just doesn’t want to do it.)

 

> **To:** Full Moon Jewellery
> 
> **From:** Hale
> 
> **RE:** Personalisation Enquiry
> 
> I’m looking for a present for my sister and am interested in the platinum and red gold fox bracelet. I’d like a wolf instead, however, as foxes are largely understood to be the vagrants of the animal world. Could you please tell me if this would be possible.
> 
>  - Hale

Okay so maybe he did spend _a little_ time making it sound a little more casual, but he’d rather march right into hell than use exclamation marks.

Just as he sends the message off, his phone starts ringing. It’s Laura, and he wonders for about the billionth time if she might actually be psychic.

“Yes?” he answers tersely.

“Der bear, is that any way to speak to the Birthday Girl?”

“Your birthday isn’t for another week, Laura.”

“Yes, but it’s sooner than _yours_ ,” she says brightly, and he can hear her opening the fridge in the background, which means she’s called to ask him cookery questions again.

“Permission to milk your birthday for all it’s worth _denied_. What do you want?” He softens his voice a little, because he really does like speaking to his sister, even if she’s being a bit of a diva.

“I have steak, potatoes, and some kind of vegetable here - Dan’s coming over later and I told him I’d cook, except he obviously doesn’t know how rare I like my steaks,” she says wryly. Derek cracks a smile at that.

“So you need me to tell you how humans eat their ribeye? I’ll tell you right now it’s usually more than 20 seconds either side.”

“But that just _ruins_ it!” she whines, which only makes him smile more. “Can you come over, Der? It’s your duty as a young, single man to take care of a woman in distress.”

He closes his laptop with a snap and stands up, grabbing his leather jacket with his free hand. “Isn’t that a bit sexist?” he asks, scanning the room for his keys and making a beeline for the coffee table.

“You’ve already got your jacket on, stop fighting the Birthday Girl,” she says chirpily. “Get in the Camaro, little brother - I’ll see you in twenty minutes.” She hangs up before he can argue, which isn’t unusual, so he rolls his eyes to an empty flat.

“I’m not calling her the Birthday Girl.”

 

* * *

 

“Now let the steaks _rest_ ,” Derek emphasises, trying to drag his sister’s eyes away from the plate of meat. “Only animals eat their steak straight out the pan.” He allows himself a small smile as a furrow of annoyance appears between Laura’s eyebrows.

“Maybe if you’d focus more on your love life than the perfect way to cook a baked potato, you’d manage to catch some tail,” she grumbles, folding her arms and leaning back against the refrigerator.

He points at her forehead with a dramatic grimace. “Better not frown too hard - I hear it’s all downhill from here.” Her hand shoots up to her eyebrows and it’s his turn to snort. “Also, nobody uses the phrase ‘catch some tail’ any more - your age is really showing.” Laura opens her mouth to make a smart reply but there’s a knock at the door and Derek makes a speedy exit. Rather than meet Laura’s new-ish boyfriend (and expose the fact that she’s kind of a shitty cook), he takes his usual route out the window - although he appreciates that this could look kind of weird from an outsider’s point of view.

Their whole family looks kind of weird, to be honest.

 

* * *

 

 

Derek  cannot get his head around this kid’s sense of humour. He’s had a message back from the Etsy seller, and he’s just so… odd. And yes, he appreciates that he has no right to think anybody else is odd, considering his entire _life_ , but… Seriously.

He can’t stop the occasional half smile as he reads, but it’s a knee-jerk reaction. This guy would probably get on well with his sister.

 

> **From:** Full Moon Jewellery
> 
> **To:** Hale (Sourwolf)
> 
> **RE:** Personalisation Enquiry
> 
> Hi there Hale,
> 
> (Is that your first name? Asking for a friend)
> 
> I seem to attract customers who’re allergic to exclamation marks - what’s that all about?! Not that I’m knocking your writing style, it’s just a trend I’m seeing here. Graphs to follow.
> 
> Just don’t bring the foxes into this, alright? They’re beautiful ginger forest nymphs.
> 
> I’d be more than happy to get that request going for you, if you’re okay with the cost of the bracelet as it is on the original item - I’ll be able to let you know what the postage will be if you let me know roughly where you are in the world. China? Japan? Azerbaijan? A country where exclamation points are outlawed? I’m kidding - just get back to me and I’ll price this baby up for you.
> 
> Do you want any further personalisation on the bracelet? Some people like a name etched into the platinum element as well as a specific clasp. Although my bio is riddled with jokes - for example, I’d rather not give you a kidney unless you really need one - I am serious about the bigot thing.
> 
> Thanking you for your custom,
> 
>  - Stiles

Derek jumps when he realises the addition to his name (Sourwolf) and for a moment he thinks this guy must somehow know more about him than he’s letting on; then he remembers that he’s ordering a wolf bracelet. He’s a little jumpy about the whole people-discovering-his-dark-secret thing since Kate, but thinking logically, he doubts a hunter would set up an Etsy jewellery shop in order to trap unsuspecting supernatural creatures. It’d be a bit of a long-shot.

The guy’s a bit of a lunatic, but he seems harmless enough. He types up a response.

 

> **From:** Derek Hale
> 
> **To:** Full Moon Jewellery
> 
> **RE:** Personalisation Enquiry
> 
> Stiles,
> 
> I just don’t believe in exclamation marks where there’s no need, but I apologise if I don’t seem excited enough about ordering a piece of jewellery. I’ll try harder next time.
> 
> Foxes are pigeons without wings.
> 
> I’m in Beacon Hills, California. I’d prefer you not to send the bracelet to Azerbaijan.
> 
> I’d like ‘Laura’ etched into the platinum, if possible. I’m fine for kidneys though.
> 
>  - Derek

Looking over the message, he wonders if he sounds like he’s trying too hard.

Christ, Laura’s right; he needs to get out more. He sends the message and closes his laptop with a click, pushing the chair back and pausing momentarily with his hand on the top drawer. He opens it slowly and pulls out the book Laura gave him on how to meet people. The first page is not particularly encouraging.

‘The first step towards starting a healthy and meaningful relationship is getting out there! It can be daunting coming onto the dating scene after so long out of the game, but the companionship of other human beings is worth the effort. Look up your local bars and clubs and see what takes your fancy. You want to step out of your comfort zone a little, but take baby steps at this stage - if you’re not a fan of dance music or alcohol, don’t force yourself to go clubbing.’

Derek snorts and snaps the book shut.

“ _Other human beings,”_ he says aloud to himself, putting the book back in the drawer and moving towards the front door. Just in reach of his hearing, the main door to the block of flats buzzes open, and Erica’s dulcet tones float up the stairwell. He may be six floors up, but he’s pretty sure he doesn’t need super hearing to know when she’s within a mile radius.

As always, he leaves the door off the latch so they can let themselves in. Before he’s even had time to turn the oven on, Erica barrels through the entrance hall with Isaac and Boyd in tow.

“Pack master Hale, sir,” she says, bringing her hand up to the level of her eyes in a mock salute. “Reporting for duty - Isaac’s already complaining about his stomach so please tell me you’ve got dinner planned. If he keeps on like this I won’t be responsible for my actions.” Derek rolls his eyes (he’s fairly certain that, between her and Laura, he’s going to end up with eye strain) and opens the fridge. He wordlessly points to a whole loaf of fresh bread sitting on the sideboard before grabbing the necessary ingredients out of the fridge. Isaac crows happily and swoops down on the bread like a starving vulture.

“Why didn’t you tell me how hungry I would be all the time _before_ you gave me the bite? I am eventually going to go on a crime spree that involves exclusively looting restaurants,” Isaac says through mouthfuls of bread, which Derek doesn’t think is a particularly good look for him. Erica obviously agrees, pulling him away from the loaf and dragging him into the living room.

“Hey, don’t blame Derek for that - we’re all fine, it’s just _you_ who keeps eating everyone out of house and home! Classic teenage boy; trying to blame everyone else for your lack of restraint.” Isaac pouts, which is his go-to expression when he feels as though the pack are ganging up on him. Or, in this case, when someone has removed him from his food source.

“Erica, you’re basically the same age,” says Derek - perhaps a little tersely - shredding pre-prepared pork for the carnitas and briefly remembering a time when he didn’t have so many responsibilities. Now he has three of them - and two are very loud.

“Yes, but I’m very mature,” Erica argues, draping herself across Boyd, who has sensibly (and unsuccessfully) attempted to remove himself from the conversation by sitting down. “Just the other day, I walked away from someone who called me a skank who was trying to steal her boyfriend. I walked away! Even I’m impressed with me.” Derek stops shredding the meat and turns to stare at her.

“You walked away?” She looks smug now.

“Yes! And I definitely did _not_ key her car later.” Derek goes back to the carnitas and, after a moment of silence, Boyd speaks up.

“You used your claws, huh?”

“I mean, _honestly_ , it was a really old car and it had a few scratches on it already. She probably didn’t even notice!”

“What could you have done to make her think that you were trying to steal her boyfriend?” Derek asks, feeling a little out of his depth in this conversation. He moves onto chopping the other ingredients.

“Her boyfriend - who is a piece of crap, by the way - tried to give me his number. He used to make fun of me when I had my seizures.” She says this in a conversational tone, but Derek has known her for long enough to know that it still stings for her to think about what she went through as a human. They all know, and for a moment there’s nothing but the sound of chopping in the room.

“What’s his address and social security number?” Boyd deadpans, and like that the tension dissipates. Isaac snorts and pulls out another piece of bread that he somehow managed to conceal in his jacket, and Erica wraps her arms around Boyd’s neck.

The evening is spent eating enough carnitas for ten people (though Isaac still has room for a pint of ice cream afterwards, which is incredible) and watching Erica’s favourite genre; crap horror films. Specifically, crap horror films about werewolves. She adores them.

It’s late when Boyd and Erica leave, but Isaac hangs back and the other two have enough sense to go on without him; they’ve all needed some time alone with the Alpha at some time or another.

“Isaac,” Derek says simply, nodding to the tea towel by the sink and turning back to the washing up bowl. Isaac grabs the cloth and starts to dry plates and cutlery as Derek works through the detritus of the evening. Eventually, Isaac speaks up.

“Can I stay here tonight? I know it’s stupid but I keep thinking I see my dad around.” His voice is barely above whisper, but Derek’s heart constricts slightly in his chest. No matter how strong they all are now, there are some parts of their pasts that they can’t beat alone.

He nods. “Any time - you know that. The spare room’s made up.” Isaac seems to relax a little, tension leaking out of his shoulders, and he smiles warmly.

“Thanks.”

 

* * *

 

 

> **To:** Derek Hale
> 
> **From:**  Full Moon Jewellery
> 
> **RE:** Personalisation Enquiry
> 
> Hi Derek,
> 
> No way - Beacon Hills is where I grew up! My dad’s the sheriff there. Had some good times in that place, although some weird shit went down when I was a kid and I think my dad just about went crazy trying to figure it all out. It’s probably built over a hellmouth or something - watch yourself.
> 
> Couldn’t sleep last night so started on the bracelet and it should be ready in a day or two. In spite of your insistence that foxes (the closest animals to God, probably) are anything but divine, I’m willing to continue this customer relationship on the basis that it will basically pay for my next week’s meals. Yes, it will mostly be ramen and pizza, but I’m not sure that would change if I actually had money so judge me at your peril.
> 
> Don’t worry about the postage, it’s on me.
> 
>  - Stiles (still with two kidneys)

Isaac’s gone to bed and Derek feels some kind of compulsion to check his emails. He doesn’t usually care very much about keeping up to date, but he doesn’t dwell on why he’s started to give a crap. Having read the message, he can’t stop smiling and he doesn’t know why. It should terrify him that this relative stranger knows his hometown, and it should definitely be setting off alarm bells that the guy is the sheriff’s son, but instead he feels kind of… fuzzy? There are very few people who talk to him like he’s a normal person (I mean, he’s not a normal person, but it shouldn’t be that obvious) outside of his pack and Laura. It’s refreshing.

And he can’t help but wonder, in the back of his mind, what Stiles looks like.

 

> **To:** New Moon Jewellery
> 
> **From:** Derek
> 
> **Re:** Personalisation Enquiry
> 
> Stiles,
> 
> It’s a small world - if I get in trouble with the authorities I’ll be sure to namedrop. I’ll drop you a line if the gates of Hell open at any time.
> 
> I don’t feel like you’re getting your five-a-day, which covers fruit and vegetables rather than different incarnations of carbohydrates. Consider buying some frozen spinach - you can add it to your noodles before you pour the water over and it should cook in around the same time. If you get admitted to hospital with scurvy, questions might be asked.
> 
> You don’t need to do that - just let me know how much it should be. I don’t want you to be short any vital supplies.
> 
>  - Derek
> 
> P.S. Maybe buy some apples or something. I’m serious about the scurvy thing.
> 
>  

* * *

 

When he can't sleep, Derek checks his emails again. His stomach lurches when he sees another message, and he opens it with his heart racing. He knows he’ll look back on his behaviour later and criticise his own stupid reactions, but at the moment he doesn’t care.

 

> **To:** Derek
> 
> **From:**  Full Moon Jewellery
> 
> **Re:** Personalisation Enquiry
> 
> Hey!
> 
> That’s not a good idea - my dad would probably lock you up on principle. I was noooot a good kid. I once found a body in the woods, which was a little bit cool but mostly just made me throw up - dad wasn’t pleased when his deputy picked me up. Oh, and it was on private property! Double whammy. I think I might actually still be grounded.
> 
> What are you, the nutrition police? I mean, for some reason I’ve taken your advice and it was absolutely delicious, but maybe I like being lanky and undernourished! Nothing screams ‘art student’ like translucent skin and a Vitamin D deficiency.
> 
> I’m serious - as luck would have it, I’m visiting my dad this week. Ironically, I have to make sure he’s taking care of himself. NOT A WORD.
> 
> I’ll drop the bracelet off in person as long as that isn’t too weird for you. Then again, you’ve already given me nutritional advice and forced me to buy fruit (yes, I bought some apples - do not read into this), how much weirder can it get?
> 
>  - Stiles
> 
> P.S. Knowing me, it can probably get pretty weird. I know what they say about meeting people on the internet, but since you already know my dad’s the sheriff I can presume you’re not going to try and murder me. I mean, that would be a pretty dumb move. Also I am far too pretty to die.
> 
>  

* * *

 

“Derek, can you please slow down and explain to me why you are calling at one in the morning?” Laura sounds more worried than annoyed but, Derek realises as he comes to his senses, that might change quite quickly.

“Okay, in the process of sorting out your birthday present, I may have inadvertently gained a pen pal who actually comes from Beacon Hills and is the son of the sheriff, and who is going to deliver the present by hand?”

There’s a moment of silence before Laura speaks.

“I’m not going to get mad, because I know your brain works differently to _normal people's_ , but I can’t help but wonder what makes this a 1am emergency, Der.”

“I’m going to have to meet him. In _person_ ,” Derek emphasises with a hiss. There’s another beat of silence.

“Derek, what else is going on here that makes this a disaster? Because I’m failing to see the bigger picture here, clearly.”

What else _is_ going on here? It’s a person - a perfectly harmless person (probably), who is unlikely to be a hunter in disguise, and who is just going to drop off the bracelet and leave. Realistically, this should be a non-issue. Derek’s not a people person, but he can pretend to be for the five minutes it will take to exchange pleasantries with this man.

The problem is that he wants to impress him for some reason. He wants this self-professed translucently pale art student to like him. Derek has never really cared what other people think about him (it would be a waste of time, he’s too terse for most people’s tastes) but he’s unreasonably invested in this stranger’s opinion after a very short email exchange.

And then, as he’s struggling to explain exactly why he’s panicking, it hits him like a bolt out of the blue.

“I think I might be gay.” The silence is slightly longer this time.

“All right, I’ll be over in ten minutes.”

Laura’s a lot faster than the Camaro.

 

* * *

 

“What did you get me for my birthday?”

“Laura…” She chuckles and shakes her head, laying a hand on his arm.

“Sorry, just thought it’d lighten the mood a bit. So - this guy. What an earth has he done to be worthy of the great Derek Hale’s affections?”

Derek glances towards the door of the spare room, but he can hear from Isaac’s breathing and heartbeat that he’s asleep, blissfully unaware of his host’s sexuality crisis.

“I don’t know. We’ve just exchanged a few emails and he wasn’t put off by my short messages or my awkwardness or any of that. He’s funny, and weird - _really_ weird - and seems genuine.” He’s never had time for people who weren’t 100% themselves. Erica, as loud as she is, is brilliant just because she’s herself, and she'd never dream of being anything but.

“Derek-” she starts slowly, but he stops her with a frustrated sigh and a shake of his head.

“I know - I haven’t met him and he could be a hunter and he’s probably going to expose us all-” Laura squeezes his arm gently to stop him, and they both glance back at the spare room door. Isaac has started snoring; Derek remembers he used to do that a lot when they first took him in. He hadn’t slept properly in years, thanks to his asshole of a father.

“I was going to ask if you’d considered the obvious.” Derek blinks at her.

“Which would be…?”

“That he might be your Mate,” Laura says softly, taking her hand off his arm and leaning back into the sofa cushion. Derek continues to blink at her.

“But… We haven’t even met? And how many werewolves ever actually get to be with their Mates anyway - what are the odds against that?”

“A million to one, probably,” Laura says honestly, shrugging and folding her arms. “But you’ve obviously already got a connection with this guy after a few days - to the point that you’re questioning your sexuality - so maybe it’s not something to dismiss right off the bat.” Derek closes his eyes and leans back a little.

“I can’t believe I’m even entertaining this idea. It’s ridiculous,” he says bluntly. It’s stupid for so many reasons - the main one being that he’s not sure he deserves that level of happiness. What could he ever have done to deserve that deep of a connection?

He knows by Laura’s silence that she can hear the desperate edge of hope behind his vehement denial.

They don’t speak much more after that, and Laura leaves in the early hours of the morning, satisfied that she’s done all she can to help her little brother with his burgeoning sexuality. Derek watches her go from the window and, knowing he has no chance of sleeping tonight, goes back to his laptop. Opening up the most recent message from Stiles, he realises that he is eventually going to have to answer it; he could always say he doesn’t want to meet…

But he really, quite desperately, does.

 

* * *

 

Derek wakes up with his face mashed into the desk, having somehow managed to avoid the laptop by some kind of freak coincidence. He rubs a hand over his face, grimacing at the longer-than-usual stubble that’s covering his chin and jaw. When did he last have a shave? When did he last _shower_?

He’s interrupted in his musings by Isaac, who is as charming as ever after a good night’s sleep.

“This might be the super smell talking, but you probably need the shower more than I do. I’ll wait.” Derek snorts and stands up; the stretch he does makes a few things crack that probably shouldn’t ( _and he briefly thinks that his sister is right, he’s getting on a bit and he should start thinking about settling down_ _, which is not a helpful thought at the moment_ ) and he pushes Isaac’s shoulder non-too-gently as he makes his way to the bathroom.

“I’m going to start hiding the good coffee when you come round. And I’m also going to give Boyd your room,” he says, shutting the bathroom door against Isaac’s pained protestations.

 

* * *

 

Once Isaac’s gone back to his flat, Derek opens up the laptop again (and he hasn’t done this much work on his computer since he got it three years ago) and sees that Stiles has already responded to his message from last night.

 

> **To:** Stiles
> 
> **From:** Derek
> 
> **Re:** Personalisation Enquiry
> 
> Stiles,
> 
> I have no plans to go to prison, but I appreciate your concern - I will endeavour not to use you as an emergency contact. Try not to wander round restricted areas at night, it would be difficult for me to protect you from this distance.
> 
> I am not the nutrition police, but I am a functioning adult - I would recommend trying it some time. It involves fruit and vegetables, so you’re already halfway there.
> 
> That would be great, thank you for the offer. It’s my sister’s birthday this weekend, so that will give me some time to wrap the gift. I’m terrible at wrapping, but it always seems to please her.
> 
>  - Derek
> 
> P.S. Weird is fine. I’m not going to kill you. I’ll reserve judgment on the ‘too pretty to die’ thing.
> 
>  
> 
> **To:** Derek
> 
> **From:** Stiles
> 
> **Re:** Personalisation Enquiry… Sort of
> 
> Hey Derek,
> 
> Awesome - it would be awkward if I started hanging out with a convict, what with my dad being such a straight-up law-abiding citizen. I’m trying to avoid him having a heart attack - hence checking on his health. Although I swear to God if he ever found out about the quantity of curly fries I’ve consumed in the last week he’d eat a kilo of red meat just to spite me. Not that we’re going to be ‘hanging out’ necessarily. I mean just meeting really. For bracelet purposes.
> 
> Who says I need you to protect me?! For all you know, I’m built like The Rock! I’m just kidding - have you ever seen a silver birch tree before? I think we might be cousins. Pale, gangly, never been to prom… It’s uncanny.
> 
> Hey buddy, I don’t have to be a real adult until I leave art school - which will be _never_ because I can just take course after course until they won’t let me have any more loans! I don’t remember apples tasting this good when I was a kid though??? Did you replace all the apples in my supermarket with genetically-modified replicas? Because that’s a very grand gesture but I’d have preferred dinner.
> 
> I can help with the wrapping if you like - I’m a dab hand at these things. Art student and whatnot. Although there’s something to be said for the ‘homemade’ touch, so if you’d prefer to put all my hard work to shame, go ahead and _ruin_ it in the name of being a great brother or whatever.
> 
> I’ll be around on Friday - what’s your address? If you’d prefer to meet me in a neutral location, such as a restaurant, bar, open field, hilltop, warehouse, etc. I completely understand. I mean maybe not the warehouse, unless they serve food? Anyway, may I recommend The Olive Branch? I will concede that the food there is good enough to make up for the lack of curly fries.
> 
>  - Stiles

Derek’s mouth is dry and his heart is hammering in his chest - is Stiles asking him out? He has no idea how to read these things, his experience in this area woefully limited. He doesn’t think of himself as a vain man (although Erica likes to grab his arm muscles and say things like “come on, tiger, you should be beating them off with a stick,” which fails to amuse anyone but her) but he’s struggling to read it any other way.

He ends up calling Erica (desperate times called for desperate measures).

“Is he hot?” Derek growls down the phone, not thanking himself for making what was turning out to be a _terrible_ decision. Boyd might have been more help.

“How the hell should I know? Funnily enough, he hasn’t been including selfies in his messages,” he replies sarcastically, brewing a pot of the strongest coffee known to man. He doesn’t usually need caffeine like Erica does, but it tends to soothe him in a way it probably should. Werewolf benefits, he supposes.

“It can’t hurt to meet him. I mean, what’s he going to do? Beat up a werewolf? Please.” He can almost hear her rolling her eyes. “Besides, if he’s the son of the sheriff - which is a weird thing to make up otherwise - he’s _definitely_ hot.”

“I seem to be missing a vital piece of information here,” Derek says slowly, and Erica laughs just as Boyd’s rumbling voice makes itself known in the background. He can just hear him saying the words ‘traitor’ and ‘lucky to have me’.

“The kid’s from Beacon Hills, right?”

“Right…?”

“So, we’re about college age, and there’s only one school here, Derek. And Boyd and I went there.” Erica sounds incredibly smug, and Derek thinks she has every right to be; he hadn’t even thought of that.

“Hang on - you _know_ Stiles?” he asks urgently, but he can already tell he’s not going to get anything more out of his pack without putting some force in, and he tends to try and hold that back for more important things.

“Send him a message back. _Meet him_ . Take him to a restaurant and woo him with your eyebrows and your muscles or something,” she says, and he can tell she’s smiling. All the women in his life seem to want the best for him _but they want it in such an insufferable way_. Erica hangs up before he can ask any more questions.

 

> **To:** Stiles
> 
> **From:** Derek
> 
> **Re:** Definitely Not a Personalisation Enquiry
> 
> Stiles,
> 
> Hanging out actually sounds great, but you’re right - let’s do dinner first. I’ll meet you at The Olive Branch whenever is best for you on Friday - I’m just around the corner. You’ll have to tell me how you make all this jewellery, since I can’t make anything passable that isn’t edible.
> 
> Maybe I can show you some time.
> 
>  - Derek

It takes him at least half an hour to send the message, short though it is, but as soon as he’s pressed ‘send’ he feels a little better. The ball is in Stiles’ court now.

 

* * *

 

 

> **To:** Derek
> 
> **From:** Stiles
> 
> **Re:** Definitely Not a Personalisation Enquiry
> 
> Holy shit, are you serious?! You want to do dinner? That sounds awesome - I’ll meet you at six??? A friend is giving me a lift back and he finishes early on a Friday so I’ll have time to change. All of my college clothes are now more paint and turps than actual fabric - it’s not a good look.
> 
> I told dad I’d have dinner with him at home but he’ll probably be relieved - one more night of steak before I kick his ass for not following doctor’s orders!
> 
> I would love you to show me your cooking skills! Maybe you can teach me how to make something that even I can’t ruin. You’ll be pleased to know I’ve finished the apples and just bought a bunch of bananas. I am really getting this whole adult thing DOWN.
> 
>  - Stiles
> 
> P.S. Just in case I wasn’t clear, I am actually an adult. Just in case you were worried. Totally an adult over here. I have a credit card and crippling student debt.
> 
>  
> 
> **To:** Stiles
> 
> **From:** Derek
> 
> **Re:** Definitely Not a Personalisation Enquiry
> 
> Great, I’ll meet you at six. I’ve got a table to avoid disappointment, since it can get quite busy in there. If you want to eat with your father I completely understand - just let me know if you change your mind.
> 
> Very glad to hear that you’re an adult, although I’m not sure buying a bunch of bananas qualifies. The crippling student debt sounds about right.
> 
> Looking forward to it.
> 
>  - Derek.

 

* * *

 

 

“Derek Hale, you have a fucking _date_?!” Laura is breathless on the phone (he sent her a text while she was on her morning run, and he’s pretty sure she wolfed out just get home quicker) and sounds ecstatic.

“I am going to dinner with another adult where we will discuss - among other things - how he has managed to survive so long on his current diet,” Derek says drily, knowing this is going to drive her insane.

“If he’s your Mate, you know you’re not even going to get through dinner, right?” she says, ignoring his sarcasm. “You won’t be able to concentrate on anything else. Mom always used to talk about meeting Dad for the first time in a supermarket, remember? Pretty sure they were banned for at least a few months.” Derek smiles a little at that; he remembers. She used to tell them the story every year, on their wedding anniversary. He thinks they might have missed out some of the more racy bits, since they were all kids at the time, but she would always describe the instant connection “like fireworks going off in her head”. He can remember the look she would give their father, and he feels a lump in his throat.

“Yeah,” he says hoarsely. “I know. I’d be lucky to have that.” Laura doesn’t say anything for a moment - he knows she agrees with him.

“Okay, little brother,” she says after a period of comfortable silence. “You be careful. And if you take him home I want to be the _first_ to know.” He can hear her grinning and he huffs out a laugh.

“In the unlikely event that I take anybody home on Friday, I will absolutely _not_ tell you, because that would be so wrong.”

“You know Erica will just tell me everything anyway!” Derek closes his eyes and rubs the bridge of his nose.

“Yes. I know.”

 

* * *

 

It’s Friday and Derek feels like an absolute idiot. He’s standing in front of his wardrobe and, after an hour of deep contemplation, has realised that he has fuck all to wear. He only seems to have black, with some dark greys peppered here and there, but everything is so _old_ and _worn_ ; Stiles is going to think he’s a goth hobo. That isn’t the impression he was looking to give.

So when Erica swans through the front door without knocking, he isn’t even mad. In fact, he nearly hugs her, except that they just don’t do that - instead, he points to his bedroom with an accusing finger.

“I need you to help me. I have a clothing-related emergency and I do not care if you want to make fun of me as long as you _help_ ,” he growls. Erica looks at his outstretched hand, then back at his face.

“I need a drink. I’ll be right back.” She darts through to the kitchen and Derek hears the tell-tale sound of a can being opened, and then she’s back as suddenly as she left. “Take me to the emergency,” she says gravely, though there is humour dancing wickedly behind her eyes. He leads her through to the bedroom and flops down on the bed, gesturing vaguely towards the open wardrobe.

“I am not even mildly prepared for this,” he says flatly, lying back and closing his eyes. Erica ignores him, delving into the back of the cupboard and rummaging around for several quiet minutes. Derek doesn’t move in that time.

Eventually she resurfaces with a dramatic “a-ha!” She is holding a dark green checked shirt in her hands, folded neatly and still in its original plastic wrapping. Derek sits up and eyes the garment warily as she shoves it into his arms, followed by his least wrecked pair of dark jeans.

“Put these on - I’ll be back in two minutes,” Erica says, waltzing out the room and shutting the door behind her. Derek wouldn’t have asked for help if he didn’t need it, so does as he’s told, stripping off his dark grey Henley and threadbare jeans and replacing them with the clothes Erica had forced on him. He’s just  doing up the buttons on his shirt when she comes back in, with what he believes has to be her second energy drink since she arrived only moments ago.

“ _Nice_ ,” she says, nodding appreciatively and indicating that he should give her a spin. He does so with an eye roll and she whistles. “Stiles isn’t going to know what hit him.”

“Nothing’s going to ‘hit him’,” Derek says, bristling a little. “It’s just dinner, to thank someone who’s done a lot of extra work for Laura’s birthday.” Erica raises an eyebrow at him in disbelief, which is fine because he doesn’t believe himself either.

He looks at the clock and there’s a jolt of _something_ in his stomach. It’s quarter to six. Erica follows his line of sight and grins.

“Time to shine!” And with that, she’s dragging him out of the room, and he somehow finds himself holding his leather jacket in the communal hallway while she locks up for him. She shoves the keys into his hand (along with his wallet and a couple of other bits and pieces that he refuses to look at too closely) and makes for the elevator. He follows her in a sort of daze, shoving things into his pockets while his heart hovers somewhere in the region of his throat. He tries not to think too much about what he’s doing.

It’s just dinner.

It’s just dinner with someone who’s managed to make him laugh more than once from miles away.

It’s just dinner with someone Erica is smugly certain he’s going to be attracted to.

It’s just dinner with a talented, funny art student who he’s pretty sure needs to be taken care of nutritionally, and his pack knows he’s a sucker for that kind of thing.

The elevator gets to the ground floor miraculously quickly, and before he knows it he’s outside on the pavement and Erica is making ‘shooing’ motions at him.

“You have to tell me _everything_ ,” she says emphatically, winking lewdly at him and punching his shoulder. Derek rolls his eyes (he can’t open his mouth or he might be sick) and she darts off back to her own apartment with a wicked grin. He’s alone now, and it’s not long until he said he’d meet Stiles - and he suddenly feels a spot of rain on his face. He looks up just as a rumble of thunder makes itself known, dark clouds drawing together in fat, angry knots; it looks almost apocalyptic.

By the time he gets to the restaurant, he’s shaking water out of his eyes and really regretting not bringing an umbrella. His pack members have often remarked that it’s lucky the wet dog smell doesn’t translate into human form… That would not have made this dinner less awkward.

He’s seated immediately (he didn’t tell Stiles but, while he has made a reservation, it wouldn’t have been necessary – the owners were friends with his parents, and he eats here so often he’s pretty sure he has shares in the place. They’d probably have kicked someone out just to accommodate him), and he absentmindedly runs a hand through his hair while perusing the wine menu. Isaac makes fun of him near constantly for this, but he’s pretty picky about wine, in spite of the fact that alcohol has no effect on him.

Then the door to the restaurant opens and there’s a brief gust of wind. He looks towards the door and freezes.

This has to be Stiles.

(Erica was right, she was so fucking right.)

He’s soaked to the skin, his slogan t-shirt sticking to his body in ways that send Derek’s mind directly to the gutter - do not pass ‘Go’, do not collect $200 - and his hair, which is already cropped pretty short, is dripping into his eyes. And those fucking _eyes_. They’re dark, but filled with a warmth that translates immediately to a fire in Derek’s stomach. His skin is pale - he can’t believe this kid still lives, or has ever lived, in California - and dotted with moles that Derek wants to map with his mouth.

Stiles says something to a waiter, who points in Derek’s direction, and their eyes meet. And at that moment, Stiles’ scent finally reaches him.

Suddenly he’s struggling to breathe and his head is spinning, and the world narrows down to the square foot of earth in which Stiles is standing.

It’s like fireworks going off in his head.

Somehow he finds his way across the restaurant to Stiles, though he doesn’t remember moving. Fortunately Stiles seems to be struggling with the concept of movement too, and Derek doesn’t dare to hope until he gets close enough to see the other man’s eyes properly; the pupils are completely blown, irises swallowed up entirely by inky blackness. And then he knows that this isn’t just him.

He stands in front of Stiles, strangely calm considering the overload to his senses and, without really thinking about it, holds out his hand. Stiles takes it without question, and the contact is almost unbearable, a point of white heat that spreads out and starts to creep up his arms and neck.

“It’s you,” Derek says, and he’s unsurprised to find that his voice comes out as little more than a rasp. Stiles licks his lips and Derek’s eyes follow the movement of their own accord.

“Yeah. And you,” Stiles says, and his voice is low and a little cracked, but still music to Derek’s ears. He has to leave, or he’s going to embarrass himself.

“We should go.” Stiles just nods, looking a little dazed; moments later they’re standing outside in the pouring rain, which at least goes some way to quieting the fire in Derek’s stomach.

“So you’re a werewolf, huh?” Stiles says, voice shaking - not from fear, but from something else entirely - crowding into his space so that Derek can see individual raindrops clinging to his eyelashes. Derek doesn’t even flinch.

“Your friend - the one who brought you here; he’s one of us,” Derek murmurs. It’s so obvious from the smell on him, even through the unmistakeable scent of lust and something that must just be Stiles himself. He’s not a wolf, but he certainly spends a lot of time with one. Derek’s eyes must flash blue at that thought, because Stiles is suddenly winding his arms around Derek’s neck and his mouth is just a whisper away.

“Just a friend. _You_ though…” He sighs, but it’s like his whole body is getting in on the action, minute shifts in arms and chest translating into more of those points of white heat where they touch. “I’ve heard about this - you should probably kiss me before one of us explodes.”

“I don’t think we’d explode,” Derek breathes, closing the gap between them to press their mouths together in a kiss that defies all his expectations. If touching Stiles’ hand had been unbearable closeness, this is a fucking meltdown in a nuclear reactor. Every nerve in his body is screaming out for attention, his fingers digging bruises into the man’s hips as he tries to pull him closer, even though Stiles is plastered to his front like a second skin. They must move at some point because there’s a wall at Derek’s back and he twists, lifting Stiles up so his back hits the wall ( _too hard, he’s human, he’s breakable_ ) and Stiles’ legs are around his waist like they fucking rehearsed this. He can barely breathe but he can no more stop the kiss than he can turn back time, and every swipe of Stiles’ tongue and graze of his teeth is like a jolt of heat that goes straight to the core of him.

Eventually, they do have to breathe.

Stiles breaks away first, gasping and letting his head fall back into the bricks behind him with a dull thud. His mouth is red and a little swollen, and the heaving of his chest is all the more pronounced in the sodden t-shirt he’s wearing. Derek thinks it might be the hottest thing he’s ever seen.

Stiles lifts his head up again and moves a hand to Derek’s face, running a thumb across his bottom lip with something akin to wonder on his face.

“Hi,” he says eventually, his voice softer but just as cracked as when Derek had first heard it. “I’m Stiles. My best friend is a werewolf, I’m not very good at feeding myself, and I take a whole bunch of meds for ADHD.” Derek feels the ghost of a smile pass across his own face.

“Hi,” he says back, resisting the urge to chase Stiles’ thumb with his mouth as it moves across his cheek, damp with rain. “I’m Derek. I’m a werewolf, this is the only shirt I own that isn’t black or grey, and I don’t believe that ramen is a food group.” Stiles laughs, and it’s the best thing Derek’s heard in his life.

“Of all the werewolves who could’ve had me as their Mate, it had to be the one who isn’t willing to support my luxurious noodle-based lifestyle,” Stiles says, smiling wryly when the surprise becomes evident on Derek’s face. “What, you think I let total strangers drag me into the rain for surprise make out sessions? I’ve done a lot of research and, luckily for you,” (here Stiles pauses to indicate his entire body) “this shit goes both ways. My entire being wants to get in your pants, but in a marriage kind of way.”

“I don’t think that’s-” Derek starts to say, but he’s too far gone to mind when Stiles shuts him up with another hungry kiss that makes the fire in his belly flare up again, in spite of the rain.

Laura is going to have a fucking field day.

 

* * *

 

His sister loves the bracelet, but she loves Stiles even more.

“He’s adorable,” she says excitedly, staring at him over Derek’s shoulder while the man in question holds his own remarkably well against the onslaught of Erica’s questioning. Derek looks over his shoulder and smiles softy.

“He’s perfect,” he says quietly, watching Stiles wave his arms about like some Lovecraftian creature, nearly knocking over a lamp in the process. Laura punches his arm and grins.

“You’re disgusting and I love it. When are you going to take him home and show him how you wrap up the whole Mates thing?” she asks, waggling her eyebrows suggestively at him. Derek twists back to face her and colours slightly, which is the biggest mistake he’s ever made.

“ _Oh my god you haven’t told him, can I-”_ Derek shakes his head emphatically, his eyes wide and pleading.

“No,” he says firmly. “I’m going to talk to him. I just… haven’t had time yet.” He runs a hand through his hair and looks back anxiously to make sure Stiles hasn’t noticed their little exchange. Of course he hasn’t (and being around someone who doesn’t have super hearing is going to take some getting used to), and he breathes a sigh of relief. His pack are too wrapped up in the new addition to have paid any attention.

“You think he’s going to change his mind,” Laura says – and it’s not a question, because she’s acutely aware of how Derek’s mind works and he nods once, tersely. She puts a hand on his arm.

“Der… He’s not Kate.” Derek winces but she persists. “He’s Stiles. He’s known about our kind for years, his closest friend is a werewolf, and everyone already loves him. I mean, even Boyd is speaking to him!” It’s true - Boyd has said at least five words to Stiles, which has to be some kind of record. Derek knows she’s right, but he’s got a lot to work through in his mind, and not a lot of time in which to do it. He places a hand over his sister’s.

“I know. I’ll talk to him later.” She nods, satisfied he’s telling the truth, and he releases her hand so that she can go and crow over Stiles at closer range.

This isn’t going to be an easy conversation.

 

* * *

 

“Well, Scott managed to leave this out of his briefing on werewolf rituals,” Stiles notes with interest, leaning back on Derek’s sofa and putting his hands behind his head in a way that is immediately and unfairly distracting. Derek closes his eyes but that only makes the scent of Stiles’ arousal more pronounced.

Which - _fuck_.

“It’s not something we usually advertise,” Derek says drily, crossing his arms across his chest in an effort to stop himself from doing something stupid like touching Stiles and never stopping. The kid grins suddenly (Derek _needs_ to stop calling him ‘kid’ in his head - he’s 21 already) and Derek could swear he spreads his legs a little. He’s clearly not taking this seriously.

“So - to summarise,” Stiles says slowly - and yep, his legs are definitely further apart now than when they started this hellish conversation - “your wolf is screaming at you to just take me like the Big Bad you are, but because this will mean a permanent and irrevocable link between us until kingdom come, you’re resisting yours truly before I’ve made up my mind about this whole bonding thing?” Derek shifts uncomfortably where he’s standing.

“I wouldn’t have put it quite like that…” But essentially Stiles is right, and he knows it.

“In which case, I’m going to make this very simple for you,” Stiles says, standing up and taking the few scant steps needed to bring him face-to-face with Derek. The tension has been unbearable all day; his wolf, as the other man correctly surmised, hasn’t stopped screaming at him to just _take what’s his_ since they’d kissed in the rain (and don’t get him started on his primal side’s shaky views on consent, he’s uncomfortable enough as it is). It had been hard enough to stop then, but now that Stiles is this close and is starting to smell like _him_ , it’s becoming almost impossible to ignore his instincts. Stiles puts a hand on Derek’s arm and he’s forced to look into those eyes that already have such a profound effect on his self-control.

“I knew when I saw you there would never be anybody else - I don’t know how but I’m pretty fucking sure about this. I don’t care if that’s werewolf mojo talking, or if we’re soulmates, or if it’s some other force or whatever - I just know that I want you more than anything I’ve ever wanted in my life.” And he smiles then, a genuine smile that makes Derek’s breath hitch slightly in his chest. Then his eyes darken and his grip on Derek’s arm tightens. “And also if you don’t start taking my clothes off in the next ten seconds I might scream.”

Derek presses his mouth to Stiles’ with all the finesse and restraint of a train wreck, but it works somehow, Stiles’ muffled noise of surprise soon swallowed up by moans and small, broken sounds that fray the rope tethering Derek to his tenuous self-control. Stiles pushes back with equal passion, sliding his fingers into Derek’s hair and tightening his grip there in a way that sends flashes of heat straight to Derek’s cock. So apparently he’s into that.

Somehow they end up on the sofa, Stiles straddling Derek’s lap and mouthing at his neck with incredible enthusiasm. Derek’s finding out a lot of things about himself at the moment, and the most recent discovery is that his neck is incredibly sensitive; the feel of Stiles’ teeth grazing his throat causes him to moan and buck up instinctively, and even his wolf is rolling over and showing his belly.

Because Derek’s life is mostly a disaster with brief shining moments of good things, he doesn’t actually realise that his sister has entered the building until she speaks.

“I guess I don’t have to ask if you heard me knocking!”

Stiles yelps and tries to scramble to his feet but Derek, with a presence of mind he doesn’t know how he’s retained, sinks his fingers into Stiles’ hips and holds him firm. He’s painfully aware of how hard he is and, while this is still not an ideal position to be in, he’d rather not give Laura an eyeful.

Even if she totally deserves it.

“ _Laura, what the fuck are you doing in my apartment?_ ” he growls, trying not to shift too much beneath Stiles as he leans forward and buries his entire face in Derek’s neck. He can sense the embarrassment coming off him in waves, but it’s still not quite enough to banish the arousal - which isn’t totally unexpected from a healthy 21-year-old guy.

“I brought you dinner!” she says brightly, placing a paper bag on the coffee table and grinning like a Cheshire cat. “Don’t worry, I didn’t cook it - it’s takeout. In future you should probably think about locking your door.” She has the audacity to _wink_ at him while he glares daggers at her over Stiles’ shoulder.

“Thank you. Now get out,” he says levelly. If anything, Laura’s grin widens.

“Stay safe, kids!” she calls from the hallway, shutting the door in a cloud of perfumed smugness. Stiles doesn’t move.

“Sorry about that,” Derek sighs, loosening his grip on Stiles’ hips and turning his head to brush his lips against the shell of Stiles’ ear; it’s flushed red, matching the stain that’s crept up his neck and cheeks. It’s also adorable.

“Are all of your family like that?” Stiles asks, a little muffled. “Because don’t get me wrong, I already like Laura, but right now I want the ground to swallow me up. Like - now?” Derek stills, but he’d known this would come up somewhere along the line - he just didn’t expect it to be quite this soon.

“Laura’s actually the only family I have,” he admits quietly. “I had a girlfriend who turned out to be a hunter. She was using me to get to my family and I, being a dumb teenager, let her do it.” He sighs and runs a hand through his hair - Stiles has pulled back now and is staring at him in muted horror, obviously having skipped to the end of the story. “Laura and I weren’t in the house when she set the fire, or we’d have died that day along with the rest of our family.” Stiles’ face is now even paler than usual.

“Fuck, I’m sorry. That’s… Shit, I had no idea,” he says softly, and there’s something in his eyes that gives Derek the impression he’s been through just as much. Unlike Derek, however, it’s made Stiles animated - passionate. He shakes his head.

“It was a long time ago. I still blame myself sometimes, but I’m working on it,” he says, shrugging. They sit in silence for a moment, the tick of a clock somewhere in the apartment marking the seconds of relative quiet.

(Derek doesn’t remember buying a clock. He doesn’t remember anybody _else_ buying him a clock. But it is a general rule that, when you have an apartment, there has to be a ticking clock somewhere, even if you don’t know where it is or how it got there.)

After a moment, Stiles perks up quite suddenly. “Not to totally derail the last ten minutes of hard work we put into bonding for life, but did Laura bring Chinese food?” Derek’s startled into laughing, which he predicts is going to be a talent of Stiles’.

They eat the takeout sitting on the floor on opposite sides of the coffee table (because even food can’t shut up Derek’s inner monologue about Stiles’ collarbones and the way his mouth moves when he talks and the cute and totally ridiculous way he holds his chopsticks). They talk about everything - about the fire, about the pack, about Scott… And they talk about Stiles’ mom, lost to cancer when he was just a kid. Derek thinks this might be why they’ve been pushed together; there’s something to be said for knowing someone else’s pain first hand.

 

* * *

 

They sleep together that night, but it’s _just_ sleep, having exhausted themselves talking into the night. And that’s fine, because Derek has never had this before either. They’re wrapped around each other and it feels right enough that he falls asleep almost instantly, contented like he hasn’t been in a very long time.

And when Stiles wakes up at 3am, and an urgent mouth presses against Derek’s, a lithe hand working him inside his boxer shorts… Well, that’s fine too.

It’s overwhelmingly fine.

**Author's Note:**

> As a cis gay lady, it's sometimes difficult for me to write cis gay man sex - it's like, what do you even do with all of that? Can you take it off??? So many questions, so little time.
> 
> So mostly I just chicken out; heavy implications are my friend, and steamy make-out sessions are my bedfellows.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed the fic, and if anyone from The Official Sterek Library Tumblr is reading, know that I love everything you do. Seriously. Big fan.


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